


Butterfly

by Raynidreams



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-03
Updated: 2011-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-26 20:04:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raynidreams/pseuds/Raynidreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poetic fic.  Leoben rambling in 4.5.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butterfly

My fingers used to brush the dirt smeared walls every time I passed, making tracks through the thick coating down to the skin beneath.  Patches over scars over patches.     
  
They did this everyday.  Everyday I escaped from the others.  Each day when I left them behind.  Them, with their eroded eyes and faces.

I escaped with a deep breath and entered into the corridor, shedding my uncertainty as I went.  The escape gave me peace... even though it was a suicide each time I walked down the stairs.  A slip into the world of Fate.  For it was her realm.  Her world where she shined like a sea of candles; caged from the harsh landscape and dying dirt beyond.  A vibrantly coloured bird on a black and white photograph.  One from which an iridescent feather had fallen to land and in doing so brushed across my face.    
  
An anarchy of nature.  Of human nature – this is what she was.    
  
I believe I am the only one who saw it.  
  
Saw it then.  
  
But fear it now.  Fear it as there’s old blood in the sand at my feet.    
  
I need to run from her.  Hide from where she stares vacant at nothing.  Stares at an imaginary paint can up-ended and mutilating the wall she shot at.    
  
Knowledge has wiped my mind and brought with it a clear warning that I am in danger of death.  In danger of being nothing if I don’t leave.  Don’t return.  A masked statue with no true identity save as a butterfly cast on her bronze shoulder.  
  
We used to be the same, I fleetingly think.  
  
But is that true?  Was it ever?  
  
There are dead trees on her wall now.  Skeletal branches holding up tarnished rings.  Dead trees and dead birds.  And I’m just a carved man who was pointing the wrong way.  
  
Directing her and them with the mixed up messages that I found written over my interlocking knuckles.  
  
My dirty palms... I’m muddy from the river. 

She’s become a face carved in stone.  
  
Look at her.  Her.

Rambling, I wave my broken flag in surrender.  
  
All I wanted to do was to see how close I could get before I died. 

And now I know.  


End file.
